


Riding

by SunflowerSupreme



Series: Witcher (Show) [10]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Cock Warming, Gen, Geraskier Week, Roach is so sick of their shit, Rough Sex, Spanking, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, horse riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:20:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22668445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerSupreme/pseuds/SunflowerSupreme
Summary: Jaskier is only allowed to be on Roach with Geralt's cock inside him.[Geraskier Week: Day Four Hurt/Comfort]
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witcher (Show) [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1624300
Comments: 46
Kudos: 1390
Collections: Witcher Kink Meme (Dreamwidth)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [Witcher Kinkmeme Prompt](https://witcherkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/429.html?thread=8621)  
>    
> Geralt/Jaskier, riding literally and figuratively: Jaskier is only allowed to be on Roach with Geralt cock inside him.

“Would you like to ride?” Anyone else might have missed it, but Jaskier can clearly see the amusement in Geralt’s face as he murmurs, “hop up.”

Jaskier’s never gotten on a horse so quickly before. Geralt swings up behind him, holding the reins around him, but not holding him, and slowly guides Roach out of town.

There’s silence as they ride out of the town, because - bless him - Geralt doesn’t enjoy putting on a show where there might be witnesses. No, his shows are for Jaskier and Jaskier alone, because, although he’d never admit it, he trusts the poet. 

By the time they’re at the edge of the woods, well past the border of the town, Jaskier is ready to die. But Geralt’s in no hurry to start because he’s clearly a sadist, and the poet is ready to scream (but if he did scream, Geralt would probably just push him off the saddle).

Finally, he feels it, a hand at the waist of his pants, and he lets out a choked sob. “Quiet,” Geralt growls. Then, “Get the oil.”

Jaskier fumbles in his bag, passing Geralt the requested item, nearly dropping it in his haste (which only makes Geralt laugh and chide, “careful little whore”). And then there are hands wrapping around his waist, and he’s being lifted - which is new, they’ve not done this before - and he’s slung over Roach’s saddle with his ass in the air.

“Easy there,” murmurs Geralt and it takes a moment for Jaskier to realize he’s not talking to the poet, but instead to his horse.

“Geralt!” He’s not jealous of the way Geralt soothes Roach, running a hand down her neck. Alright, maybe he is. Just a bit.

“Wait your turn,” scolds the Witcher, and Jaskier is going to kill him.

After far too long there’s a hand on the waistband of his hands, and then his ass is bare, exposed to the air and any who might pass by to see them, and as much as he loves performing, Jaskier can’t help but hope Geralt would warn him before that happens.

Cold oil spills over his ass and he whines, wiggling about and trying to make Geralt hurry, but the Witcher takes his time, rubbing his finger around Jaskier’s entrance.

“Please!”

A soft slap lands on his bottom. “Quiet, Jaskier, or I’ll throw you off.”

He whines and then finally - finally - a finger slips inside him. Jaskier bucks back against it, but his eagerness is rewarded with the finger being removed and another smack to his upturned bottom. After he settles down, Geralt reenters him.

Geralt’s a gentle and considerate lover, under his harsh exterior, and he prepares Jaskier fully as Roach ambles along, barely seeming aware of what her riders are up to - or perhaps she’s just learned not to care. Then, when Jaskier’s about to cry that he’s as stretched as he possibly could be, he’s being lifted up again, placed back in the saddle, his ass pressed against Geralt’s crotch.

Jaskier tries to grind against him, but Geralt grabs his hips and clicks his tongue scoldingly. Careful hands slip between them, and the witcher arranges Jaskier’s trousers, pulling them so that from the front he appears to be fully dressed, but behind him, they bunch below his ass. 

Then he feels Geralt unlacing his own trousers and finally - _finally_ \- feels a cock against his ass.

“ _Please_.”

He’s surprised when Geralt gives in, lifting the bard’s hips carefully and then settling him down on his cock. “Fuck,” Jaskier whispered, his head lolling back against the Witcher’s chest. Geralt loops one arm around his waist, keeping him pinned and still, the other hand holding the reins nonchalantly.

Jaskier knows it's going to be hours of riding, of Geralt’s cock in him, and he knows by the end of it he will be sore and raw, and that perhaps he’ll have climaxed and perhaps he won’t have, but either way, once they’ve stopped for the evening, Geralt will take him, fully and completely, even if it hurts, and they’ll both climax, even if it’s Jaskier’s second or third or fourth. But he doesn’t care, because it’s bliss, and he moans softly, reaching to touch himself.

And, as he always does, Geralt stops him, placing his hands on the saddle in front of him with a chiding noise. If he gets a climax, it will be solely based on the cock inside him.

They talk as they ride. Well, Jaskier talks and Geralt grunts. It could be a perfectly normal scene, a passerby wouldn’t even notice what was happening between them unless they had Geralt’s sense of smell (and if they passed another Witcher on the trail, its not clear which of them would be more embarrassed).

Each shift of the saddle, every step, makes Geralt shift inside of him, even as the Witcher becomes flaccid, it’s still a strange feeling, one he’s not entirely used to (he hopes he never gets used to it, that it’s a treat every time).

“Easy poet,” Geralt said after a particularly rough step from Roach makes Jaskier gasp. His voice is gentle and quiet as he asks, “Am I hurting you?”

“Yes,” Jaskier sobs and Geralt chuckles.

* * *

The sun is low in the sky by the time they stop, and Geralt lifts him off his cock, ignoring Jaskier’s whimper. There’s pain in the noise, yes, because he’s raw and the oil has soaked into him, no longer lubricating, but its more pleasure than anything else.The Witcher dismounts first, then pulls Jaskier down, giving him a swat on his ass and telling him to deal with their bags.

He’s done long before Geralt is finished settling down Roach for the night, and he’s spread out the bedrolls, pushing them together into one, tossing a sheet over them and then stretching himself out on his stomach, nude from the waist down. He’d take off his shirt as well, but the even is chilly and he’s not willing to wait around and shiver.

Finally, Geralt is beside him, a hand on his hips, lifting his ass. His thumb trails over Jaskier’s hole, checking - as he always does - to make sure there’s no injury. But as usual, while he’s raw and sore he’s not bleeding, so Geralt pours a bit more oil on him, then straddles him, pressing against his entrance.

“Ready?”

Jaskier pushed his hips back in reply, spearing himself with a sob. Geralt barely gives him time to adjust before grabbing his hips and taking control himself, thrusting in and out of the poet’s pliant body.

Every thrust brings a yelp of pain and a hand on the top of his head, stroking his hair soothingly. He’s raw and aching and tomorrow he’ll be even worse, (he knows Geralt will let him ride, even without a cock in him) but at the moment all he can think about is his own pleasure, shoving his hips back against Geralt’s, trying to take him as deeply as he could.

Then finally, after waiting an entire day, his orgasm overtakes him.

* * *

It’s not entirely clear if he truly fainted or was just lost in bliss, but when he comes to, he’s in Geralt’s lap and the Witcher is stroking his back as they sit beside a roaring fire. A cup of water is pressed to his lips and he downs it greedily, then drinks two more before finally collapsing against Geralt with a sniffle.

The Witcher says nothing but continues to rub his shoulders as he once again drifts off to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had planned to be done with this story…. but you guys liked it so much AND I had an idea for the Geraskier Week Prompt: Hurt/Comfort

He hadn’t meant to cause trouble, but trouble has a way of finding him. How was he to know his paramour was married? And to the town alderman at that?

Geralt hadn’t seen it that way and had pulled him out of the town by the back of his shirt, growling under his breath about stupid, misbehaving bards who ought to pay back his lost coin because they’d had to flee before he’d gotten the second half of his payment.

“Geralt-” Jaskier begins, but a low snarl from the Witcher shuts him up.

Geralt grabs his wrist, cat eyes narrowing. Then he’s suddenly bent over, his head shoved between his own knees, and Geralt growls, “You’re going to learn your lesson this time.”

And he knows this is going to hurt.

Geralt’s angry - and rightfully so - and he knows what he deserves. But still, he knows it won’t go too far, that Geralt knows his limits.

The first blow is more of an annoyance than anything. He hadn’t been fully prepared, hadn’t braced himself properly, and he nearly falls over, but Geralt grabs his shirt, hauls him upright, and lands a second strike.

Three more fall in quick succession, then his pants are grabbed, forced down to his knees, and he cries out, struggling to pull his pants back up to cover his reddening ass.

“If you’re good I won’t use my belt,” says Geralt and immediately Jaskier stops his protests, allowing Geralt to land several strikes with his open hand on Jaskier’s bare bottom. 

It stings, but then, he’s used to receiving pain from Geralt, so he sniffles quietly and doesn’t fight back, even when his bottom begins to throb, even when his legs try to grow weak.

And just when he thinks he’s had too much, when he thinks his feet are about to fall out from under him, Geralt straightens him up, pulls up his pants, and lands one last swat on his bottom.

Then the Witcher is striding away, leaving Jaskier to suck in deep breaths and wrap himself in his arms.

“We should get moving,” Geralt says, swinging into the saddle, not looking at Jaskier.

His face is still flushed with tears he stumbles after Geralt. “Let me ride!” he pleads, grabbing for the Witcher’s leg.

There’s a hint of concern on Geralt’s face as he begins, “Jaskier-”

“Please! I need to ride.” And then, in case Geralt doesn’t fully understand what he’s saying, he adds, “Let me ride _you_.” 

The Witcher is hesitant, but just as Jaskier trusts that Geralt knows his limits, the Witcher trusts him to manage himself. He’s lifted up and draped over the saddle, ass in the air, and Geralt clearly can’t resist giving him a soft pat on his reddened skin (or perhaps it’s a warning of what’s to come).

But either way, Jaskier whines for more.

He aches before a finger even breaches him and a pitiful sob comes out of his mouth, but he wiggles around in the saddle, letting Geralt know that he’s still interested.

Geralt’s free hand rubs over his back as he stretches him, and he’s so distracted by the affection that he barely notices when the second finger enters, then a third. It hurts so much, but it hurts so good, and he’s almost begging when Geralt finally removes his fingers.

Then he’s lifted up and placed in the saddle, a cry of pain falling from his lips. Geralt hushes him, murmuring, “You earned this, Jaskier,” but there’s gentleness in the way he holds his hips, a reminder of his choice.

When Geralt enters him he starts to cry. He hadn’t cried from the spanking, but this - the friction combined with the humiliation - brings him to tears. Arms wrap around his midsection and Geralt holds him.

“Good, little lark,” the Witcher says softly, cupping Jaskier’s chin, forcing him to look up at him even if it means twisting his neck. “You earned this,” he reminds him, holding his chin in a viselike grip. “You couldn’t keep your cock in your pants so you’ll keep mine in you like the whore you are." 

And he knows its not the whoring that Geralt minds - it would be hypocritical of him to - it’s the carelessness of the whoring, his tendency to get himself in trouble with it. And there’s compassion in Geralt’s cat-eyes, he’s watching to make sure he hasn’t pushed the bard too far, that the pain isn’t too much. 

Jaskier does his best to nod, but Geralt’s fingers have pressed between his teeth, forcing his mouth open, his tongue hanging out. He knows he must be a sight to behold, and he’s more grateful than ever that they’re on a deserted road, because he must look well fucked.

Then Geralt releases his chin and once again wraps his arms around his waist. “Perhaps I’ll spank you again when we make camp,” he threatens. “Should I, Jaskier? I could spank you each night we’re forced to sleep under the stars because you cost me my coin.”

“Please don’t,” he says, and he means it, and Geralt can tell, so the Witcher takes his hand and squeezes it. “Only today. Perhaps,” Jaskier adds, because perhaps he could take one more, but not every day. Geralt grunts and they ride along in silence.

He cries off and on throughout the day, from the pain and humiliation, because Geralt hasn’t covered him as he usually does so his ass is bare and red and full of Geralt's cock for all the forest creatures to see. Each time he cries Geralt’s arms tighten around him and when he’s done, without fail, his face is wiped clean of tears and snot. 

But that’s not to say he’s not aware that this is a punishment. He truly throbs with every movement, and Geralt isn’t careful today, even going so far as to push Roach into a bouncy trot that makes him sob openly and beg for mercy. 

“I’m sorry Geralt,” he babbles, clinging to the Witcher’s hands, doubling over in the saddle. “Please, Geralt!”

But he doesn’t say _stop_ , because he doesn’t want to it stop, not truly, so Roach trots for several minutes before Geralt slows her and Jaskier can finally catch his breath.

It's well past noon when Geralt suddenly pulls off his cloak, tossing it over Jaskier, covering him, and says, “Pretend to be asleep.”

He closes his eyes as Geralt wipes away his tears, smoothing his hair, but he can’t help but turn red when he hears a horse approach. Suddenly he’s hyper-aware of the sting in his ass from the whipping and the feeling of Geralt’s cock in him, and he prays to the gods that it will be over soon.

Geralt calls out a greeting, and the other rider responds in kind, then there’s nothing more, and soon the rider must be far away because Geralt pushes Roach into a trot once again, as if to remind Jaskier that this is a punishment.

But the trot doesn’t last as long as before and he’s allowed to remain wrapped in the cloak and even his tears seem less than before.

When they finally stop to make camp Geralt dismounts, then pulls Jaskier off the saddle, ordering him to ready the camp as he usually does.

It takes longer than it should because he’s in pain and tired from a day of crying and whining, and Geralt’s waiting by the fire by the time he finishes, sitting on a fallen log, and he holds out his arms and pulls Jaskier into his lap.

The bard wraps his legs and arms around Geralt, hiding his face in his shoulder and for a moment they don’t speak, then Geralt pulls him back, holds his chin to force him to meet his eyes, and asks, “Do you need another spanking?”

Because he knows Jaskier sometimes can’t forgive himself and needs to have forgiveness whipped into him, but today all he needs, all he wants, “Fuck me.”

And Geralt obliges, taking him as they sit on the log, pressing deep inside him, drawing desperate moans from the bard.

Geralt’s voice is gentle as he asks, “Is this too much?”

“It hurts,” Jaskier sobs, but he doesn’t tell him to stop, so Geralt continues, lifting Jaskier off his lap then forcing him back down again over and over until he's near his climax. 

Then he’s pushed off Geralt’s lap, onto his knees, and there’s a cock pressing against his lips which he readily takes down his throat and once Geralt’s climaxed - and he swallows it all because he’s _good_ \- the favor is returned and he’s laying on his back, sore ass pressing into the ground as Geralt sucks him dry.

Afterward Geralt has wiped them both clean - and thankfully, with the semen swallowed, there’s not much to clean - they curl together on the bedroll and Geralt rubs his shoulders as he sobs through the rest of his pain and apologies.

“Jaskier,” Geralt says, rubbing his fingers through his hair. “You know you’re forgiven, and if you can’t accept that, you’ll taste my belt in the morning.” _And every morning until you forgive yourself_ , hangs unspoken in the air.

The bard sniffs and nods, curling into Geralt’s side. “I’m hungry,” is all he can say, and the Witcher laughs and promises him a warm meal before bed.


End file.
